Do What You Have To Do
by silvershadeus
Summary: Weiß loses one of their own, but appearances are never what they seem...(complete)
1. Default Chapter

Okay...first of all, contrary to appearances, this is most definitely _not_ a death fic. (as if I could ever kill off one of the boys) but there is a great deal of yummy angst going on in this fic. I admit to (obviously) stealing the title of this fic from Sarah McLachlan's song _Do What You Have To Do_, mainly because I felt the title, if not the song itself, fit the fic perfectly. (It might not be obvious at first, but hopefully will be as the fic goes on...and besides, it's such a beautiful song as well. ^_^;;)  
  
Which, as it seems at the moment, will be only a part of a larger story I'm in currently working on (hence the lack of new parts on my other stories >_) the middle of writing. I realize that I have other fics in the works as well, but they'll be placed on the back burner while I focus on finishing this one. I do promise to finish my other fics, and may in fact work on them if/when I get blocked on this fic. Because I know I will, eventually. >_  
  
Anyhow, I hope my OC is at least a teensy bit likable, and not a sniveling, wimpy little guy you'd all love seen get blown to bits as soon as humanly possible. But enough babbling, on to the fic, ne? ^_^  
  
  
~silvershadeus~  
  
  
  
feedback, onegai! ^_^ (or at least let me know how badly I've mangled the boys, ne? ^^;;)  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Weiß Kreuz, or the title for this fic, which was 'borrowed' from the song of the same name by Sarah McLachlan...I'm just borrowing them for a little while.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Author: silvershadeus  
Email: silvershadeus@yahoo.com  
Title: Do What You Have to Do  
Type: Series [1/?]  
Teaser: Weiß has lost one of their own, but appearances  
are not always what they seem...   
Rating: PG for language (in later parts)  
Spoilers: mild spoilers for the whole series  
Warning: Shounen ai (getting there)   
Keywords: Weiß, OC, angst

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do What You Have To Do - Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He never thought it would come to this. He had, in fact, rather selfishly hoped that someone else be in his position instead. Hoped that someone else would be instructing the new replacement for one of his closest friends in the art of flower arranging. He'd hoped, with all his heart, that none of them would ever have to do anything like it at all. But as he knew, life was not fair. And Fate never listened to the pleas of mere mortals, doing as she wished without ever once consulting them on the matter.  
  
"Like that, Ken?"  
  
Jolted out of his reverie by the sound of his name, Ken shook his head and forced a smile to his face as he studied the arrangement in front of him. He felt a pang of sorrow at the sight of the flowers, one side of his mouth twitching slightly. The baby's breath was crowding out the roses, some of which had lost petals and leaves along the way. It looked eerily like one of his first attempts had...a long time ago.  
  
"No...but you're getting better at this, Saburo. Trust me, it took a while for me to get the hang of this too. Flower arranging is a tricky art, but once you get the basics down you can pretty much bluff your way through." Ken confided, reaching for the arrangement as he spoke.  
  
The younger man smiled self-deprecatingly, pale green eyes staring mournfully at the mangled flowers before them.  
  
"If you say so," He muttered, watching as Ken's fingers flew over the flowers, breaking down the arrangement with the ease of long practice. "I still think it was a mistake to put me here."  
  
Ken faltered at his words, eyes darting to meet those of the younger man. As though realizing what he'd just said, Saburo's eyes widened, a horrified expression on his face as he turned to face Ken.  
  
"Sorry! I didn't mean to...I'm sorry... I know this is hard for you and the others, and I'm sorry that I'm such a klutz when it comes to this," He said, indicating the dismantled flower arrangement, "It's just I don't think I'm cut out to be a florist, on top of everything else. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful, because I appreciate you taking the time to - "  
  
"Saburo."  
  
Swallowing nervously, the younger man bit back the rest of his words, wincing as he realized he'd been babbling again. An all too common occurrence in his opinion, but...  
  
"It's all right, Saburo. I remember what it was like in the beginning too. And...as bad as this is going to sound, you get used to it. _Everything._"  
  
As with Saburo's earlier words, there was the implied mention of Weiß, though both men knew better than to say more in an unsecured area such as the flower shop. One never knew who might be listening, even though they were the only ones in the closed shop at the moment, sitting at the table in the back room.  
  
'Professional paranoia,' as Yohji had dubbed it one day after hearing Ken and Omi glossing over their nightly activities to a curious shop patron. Of course, the girl in question had been unusually persistent in worming out the details of their personal lives, most likely trying to get an edge on the competition. And eyeing Omi as though he were an exceptionally delicious looking morsel.  
  
"You do?"  
  
Watching the younger man from the corner of his eye, Ken didn't miss the near-panicked expression that flashed over his face. He was well familiar with that particular feeling; he dealt with it on a regular basis. Usually when he found himself sliding into that dark place in his mind where the killing just got to be easy. When he found himself _not_ wondering if what he was doing was right or wrong. 

When he stopped questioning.  
  
Sighing, Ken leaned back in his seat, playing idly with a drooping spray of baby's breath. Frowning at his hands, he absently blew a lock of hair out of his eyes.   
  
"That was a poor choice of words, I didn't mean to worry you. What I mean is...after a while...it doesn't bother you as much. We all have different reasons for what we do, but it never gets to the point where what we do is _easy_. They make sure of that. They want us to remember what we're doing and why. It's easy to hate them for making things too...personal...I guess. But it's easier to be grateful for it too, because despite what they do...what _we_ do, they want us to remain human."  
  
Saburo nodded thoughtfully, picking up a discarded rose. Turning it over in his hands, he ran his fingers over the spots where the thorns had been removed. The implicit 'They' was Kritiker, as they both knew. He found it strange to think that they should even care that their personal assassins worried over that thin line of duty and something darker. Maybe it spoke well of them, or maybe they simply wanted a way to control their trained killers.  
  
Sliding a glance at Ken, Saburo offered a small smile. It would take some getting used to, working with Ken and the others as a team. And he doubted he'd ever make a decent flower arrangement, but he would try. It was the least he could do, after all. He might not be able to replace their fallen teammate, but he could try to find his own place with them.   
  
"Thanks, Ken. I really do appreciate you taking the time to show me how to do this stuff. I don't want to be a burden to you guys or anything, I want to help out where I can, you know?"  
  
Smiling a little sadly, Ken nodded, picturing a younger blonde in Saburo's place, and himself saying much the same words. But that was a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. And Ken had found his little niche among his friends and teammates. Now it was just a matter of moving on and hopefully making room for Saburo.  
  
"Just returning a favor."   
  
Blinking at the cryptic remark, Saburo smiled tentatively. At least one of them was making an effort not to be hostile. That had to count for something, right?  
  
"So...um...can I try that again?"  
  
Handing over a pair of clippers, Ken's smile widened slightly. Saburo reminded him far too much of a younger version of himself. Young, and raw inside, still bleeding from unseen wounds. Hurting and uncertain, and not willing to trust easily.   
  
"Be my guest. I'd hate to see the shop lose money because our flower arrangements aren't up to par."  
  
Snorting gently, Saburo accepted the clippers. "Yeah, that would be a shame, wouldn't it?"  
  
"A real shame." Ken agreed, settling back in his chair to watch the younger man work.

*****************************

A flash of light.   
  
Voices screaming.   
  
Flames scorching his skin, burning his hair.  
  
Smoke clogging his throat, stinging his eyes.   
  
Someone yelling his name.  
  
An explosion...then oblivion.  
  
Stop.  
  
Rewind.  
  
Play.  
  
A flash of light.  
  
Voices screaming.  
  
Flames scorching his skin, burning his hair.  
  
Smoke clogging his throat, stinging his eyes.  
  
Someone yelling his name.  
  
An explosion...then oblivion.  
  
Stop.  
  
Rewind.  
  
Play.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TBC...^_^;;

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Fashion statement

Just keep reminding yourselves 'This is not a death fic.' and everything will be all right. Thanks to everyone who commented on the first part of this ficcie. The next part will be out soon.

  
~silvershadeus~

feedback, onegai! ^_^ (or at least let me know how badly I've mangled the boys, ne? ^^;;)  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Weiß Kreuz, or the title for this fic, which was 'borrowed' from the song of the same name by Sarah McLachlan...I'm just borrowing them for a little while. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author: silvershadeus  
Email: silvershadeus@yahoo.com  
Title: Do What You Have to Do  
Type: Series [2/?]  
Teaser: Weiß has lost one of their own, but appearances  
are not always what they seem...   
Rating: PG for language (in later parts)  
Spoilers: mild spoilers for the whole series  
Warning: Shounen ai (getting there)   
Keywords: Weiß, OC, angst

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Do What You Have to Do - Part 2**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Staring blearily over his coffee mug at the figure seated across from him, Yohji struggled vainly to remember the kid's name. The fact that he'd been out until early that morning trying to drink himself into oblivion certainly didn't help matters any. He was hoping the coffee would help kick start his brain. So far, it wasn't working.  
  
The kid, for he couldn't be much older than seventeen, stared back, ice green eyes never leaving his. Black hair. Dark olive skin tone. Delicate bone structure. High cheekbones. Straight nose, never been broken. A little on the scrawny side. Scar on the left forearm. Likes _plaid_. More pretty than handsome. Nice looking, in an androgynous, waif-like way. _Likes_ plaid. He had to, considering what he was wearing.  
  
Snorting into his coffee, Yohji shook his head. Even he wasn't sure if it was his training as a private investigator, his training as an assassin, or his ego sizing up potential competition with the ladies that was cataloguing the other's appearance. And fashion sense. Or lack thereof.  
  
"What's with the shirt?" He asked finally, taking a sip of his coffee.  
  
Blinking at the question, Saburo looked down at his shirt, and frowned. As far as he could see, there was nothing wrong with it. He hadn't spilled any of his food on it, and it was still freshly pressed. Not that he was a neat freak, or anything, but he did like to look at least vaguely presentable.  
  
"What's wrong with it?"   
  
It was hard not to get defensive when he was around Yohji. The older man seemed to have a problem with him, although it didn't seem to be personal...so far. He supposed that said something about the older man. Although what exactly...  
  
In the weeks since he'd first arrived at the Koneko, Yohji had been nothing but cold to him. Always trying to antagonize him in some way or another. Saburo had a good idea as to _why_ Yohji treated him the way he did, he just wasn't as sure of what to do about it. Especially when Yohji looked at him, giving the impression that he was sizing the younger man up... and coming up woefully short.   
  
"Plaid."  
  
Having realized some time back that Yohji Kudou was anything _but_ a morning person, Saburo was accustomed to seeing the older man stagger into the kitchen sometime after the noon hour. Usually though, he was a bit more awake and coherent than he was at the moment.  
  
"Excuse me? I don't get what- "  
  
"Your shirt. Plaid." Yohji said almost accusingly, clutching his coffee mug as though it was the only thing anchoring him in the world of the conscious.  
  
"Yes. Yes it is."   
  
Yohji took another sip of coffee, eyes going unfocused for a moment as he clearly mulled over Saburo's words.   
  
"Why?"  
  
"I like plaid."  
  
"_Why?_"  
  
"I...I don't know why. I just do." Saburo stammered, obviously flustered by Yohji's apparent fascination with his sense of fashion.  
  
"Yohji, stop torturing Saburo. As I recall, you have a few...questionable items of clothing in your own closet."   
  
Walking past Yohji on his way to the sink, Ken slapped Yohji on the back of the head in passing, throwing Saburo a wry smile. Judging by the expression on his face, Yohji had been his usual charming self that he always was before noon. In other words, surly and ready to a pick a fight with anything that breathed.  
  
Looking up as Ken walked over to the sink, Saburo smiled with relief as Yohji muttered darkly into his coffee, glaring at Ken's back. And then frowned as Ken's words registered. Apparently Ken shared Yohji's prejudice against plaid, for whatever reason.   
  
"What's wrong with my shirt?"  
  
Filling a glass with water, Ken twitched, fighting back a laugh at the defensive tone in the younger man's voice. Glancing over his shoulder, he flashed a grin at Saburo, hoping to smooth his ruffled feathers.  
  
"Nothing. Nothing at all."  
  
Pale green eyes narrowing, Saburo scowled first at Ken, then at Yohji.   
  
"I'll have both of you know that I happen to _like_ plaid."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Burying his face in his hands at Yohji's genuinely curious question, Saburo shook his head in despair, while Ken shook with silent laughter.

******************************

With half a pot of coffee circulating through his veins, Yohji was feeling slightly more human. The fact that he had a lovely young lady ogling him from behind the begonias certainly didn't hurt things either. Flicking a sideways glance at Saburo, he pushed off from the counter he was leaning on and moved over to check on a window display. The better to fully appreciate her...attributes, of course.   
  
Ken had wandered off sometime earlier after giving Yohji a _look_ that clearly meant he'd better be nice to Saburo, or else. Snorting, Yohji raked a hand through his hair. Ken...Ken just didn't understand. He didn't get that _feeling_ in his chest whenever he turned around expecting to see a familiar face, and finding Saburo there instead. Or if he did, Ken didn't show it.  
  
Laughing at himself, Yohji wasn't surprised to find that he was stealing glances more at Saburo than at his admirer. There was just _something_ about Saburo that didn't feel quite right to him. Something that left Yohji feeling on edge and nervous, a sensation that he was not particularly fond of.   
  
_Maybe it's just that I wish he were someone else,_ Yohji thought wryly, readjusting the display a little. _Maybe I wish that I didn't have to meet him at all._  
  
Sighing, Yohji stared at the window display sadly. Things just hadn't been the same since that night. He knew they all felt his loss, in different ways, but just as painful for all that. He had been one of them. Part of their impromptu family...and now he was _gone._   
  
Poof.  
  
_Just like that._  
  
Reaching into his apron pocket for his cigarettes, Yohji glanced up to see Saburo watching him, an odd expression on his face. When he saw Yohji looking at him, he opened his mouth as though to speak, and snapped it shut just as quickly. Scowling, Yohji looked down at the pack of cigarettes in his hand, and then back up at Saburo, only to find that the younger man had turned back to what he'd been doing.  
  
"Excuse me? I was wondering if you could help me...I'm trying to find a gift for a friend of mine."  
  
Stuffing the cigarettes back into his pocket, Yohji turned and switched on the charm, eyes glowing with false-sincerity. By the blush on the young lady's cheeks and the demure way her eyes slid away from his, he knew she had fallen for his act. There were only a handful of people who could see through it, and that number had recently gone down by one...   
  
"I'd love to help. Now what kind of gift were you looking for? Is it your friend's birthday? An anniversary of some sort? Maybe an apartment or housewarming present?"  
  
His smile never faltered, though the look in his eyes did.  
  
Caught up in his spell, Yohji's admirer didn't even notice. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TBC...^_^;;

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	3. Soccer in the rain, and Yohji angst

Bwahahaha! It's alive! It's alive!

*ahem*

What I meant to say is that I've managed to kick the writer's block that landed on me a while back. Since I have no idea when the next one will hit, I'm trying to work on all the fics that...aren't quite finished as I have the time. Thanks for your patience everyone, and even more thanks for commenting on my fics, I really do appreciate it. I'll try to update my little web page by the weekend.

Now on to the fic and a great deal of yummy Yohji angst! Yay!

O.O;;

~silvershadeus~

feedback, onegai! ^_^ (or at least let me know how badly I've mangled the boys, ne? ^^;;)

Disclaimer: I do not own anything _ Weiß Kreuz_, or the title for this fic, which was 'borrowed' from the song of the same name by Sarah McLachlan...I'm just borrowing them for a little while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Do What You Have to Do - Part 3**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A flash of light.   
  
Voices screaming.   
  
Flames scorching his skin, burning his hair.   
  
Smoke clogging his throat, stinging his eyes.   
  
Someone yelling his name.  
  
An explosion...then oblivion.  
  
Stop.  
  
Rewind.  
  
Play.  
  
A flash of light.   
  
Voices screaming.   
  
Flames scorching his skin, burning his hair.   
  
Smoke clogging his throat, stinging his eyes.   
  
Someone yelling his name.  
  
An explosion...then oblivion.  
  
Stop.  
  
Rewind.  
  
Play.

*********

Wiping water from his eyes, Ken glanced around at the kitchen warily. It was...too quiet, he decided, eyes taking in the empty room. There was no sign of Yohji or the others, and for some reason he found that highly disconcerting.  
  
Rubbing his aching shoulder absently, he walked over to the sink, taking a glass out of the overhead cupboard. Looking over his shoulder as though he was expecting someone to be there watching him, he turned the tap on and filled his glass with water. Gulping it down, he sighed inwardly.  
  
Things really weren't the same anymore. He knew that, but it was hard to face sometimes. Hard to face the fact that he'd never see his friend again. Hard to face the fact that he'd never hear his voice again. It was just plain hard, the letting go.  
  
"Ken?"  
  
Closing his eyes, Ken tilted his head to the side slightly, though he did not turn to face the speaker.  
  
"Are you all right? You look like you got into a fight...and lost."  
  
Laughing softly, Ken's lips curved upwards. Opening his eyes, he looked down at himself and ruefully agreed that he did indeed look a sight. His jeans were covered in grass stains and mud spattered, his shirt was slightly torn at one spot, and he was soaking wet.  
  
"Close enough. I was playing soccer with some kids at the park."   
  
"In the rain?"  
  
Saburo's tone bordered on disbelief and something very much like surprise.  
  
"Didn't you know? That's the best time to play."  
  
The younger man snorted, clearly of the mind that Ken was missing a few marbles.  
  
"If you say so. I'd better get back to the shop, Yohji's probably flirting with the petunias by now."  
  
Biting his cheek to keep from laughing, Ken shot Saburo a sympathetic look. He was well acquainted with Yohji's little...quirks.   
  
"That bad, huh?"  
  
Saburo's expression was all the answer he needed.  
  
"When he's not...never mind, it doesn't matter."  
  
Leaning against the kitchen counter, Ken bit his lip, wondering if he should say something. He knew Saburo was having a hard time fitting in, since the others weren't exactly willing to cut him any slack, all things considered...   
  
"It's okay, Ken. I understand what the three of you must be going through."  
  
Ken smiled weakly, stifling the urge to snap at the younger man. Part of him, the part that still wept for the loss of a friend, or a brother, railed at Saburo for his words. _He_ didn't know what it was to lose someone who was part of the only family Ken had left in the world. Didn't know the pain he felt.  
  
Seeing the uncertain look on Saburo's face, Ken sighed inwardly. He knew the younger man hadn't meant for his words to hurt, only to help. Always to help.   
  
"Yeah, well...it only happens when the weather's too bad for the usual crowd to come in. It's like cabin fever. He can't go without seeing a pretty face for too long before something in his head short circuits. Don't worry, he'll be fine. Trust me."   
  
Sighing wearily, Saburo trudged back towards the door leading to the flower shop, muttering darkly under his breath. Watching him, Ken's smile faded a little. Things were different now, and no amount of wishing or hoping, would change that. And as much as he hated to admit it, he found that with each passing day, the aching sense of loss he felt was that much more weaker. It was easier now to get back into his normal routine, easier to get on with his life.  
  
Rinsing his glass, he put it in the dishwasher and headed for his room, intent on a hot shower and a change of warm _dry_ clothes. There was nothing else he could do, nothing else left to do. 

*********

A flash of light.   
  
Voices screaming.   
  
Flames scorching his skin, burning his hair.   
  
Smoke clogging his throat, stinging his eyes.   
  
Someone yelling his name.  
  
An explosion -   
  
Pause.   
  
_Something there..._  
  
Rewind.  
  
Play.  
  
A flash of light.   
  
Voices screaming.  
  
Flames scorching his skin, burning his hair.   
  
Smoke clogging his throat, stinging his eyes.   
  
Someone yelling -   
  
Pause.  
  
Rewind.  
  
Play.  
  
A flash of light.   
  
Voices screaming.  
  
Flames scorching his skin, burning his hair.  
  
Smoke clogging his throat, stinging his eyes.   
  
Pause.  
  
_Those eyes..._

*********

Well aware that Yohji was currently trying to bore a hole through his back using only the force of his glare, Ken cheerfully ignored him. Seated beside him, working carefully on a simple arrangement, Saburo seemed oblivious to the dark tension hovering in the air of the flower shop. A quick sideways glance revealed otherwise as Ken noticed a visible tremor in the younger man's hands.   
  
Gritting his teeth to keep from snapping at Yohji, Ken offered Saburo an apologetic grin, shrugging a little. It wasn't his fault Yohji persisted in being an ass about the whole thing. It wasn't as though Saburo had been at fault for any of it, and he certainly wasn't the one to blame, if there was anyone.   
  
"You're doing better, Saburo. I told you, it just takes practice. Pretty soon you'll be as good as us at this.."  
  
Saburo smiled hesitantly, a slight blush sweeping over his cheeks as he ducked his head at Ken's praise.   
  
The sound of a clay pot hitting the floor shattered the moment.   
  
Looking up, Ken saw a totally unrepentant looking Yohji standing next to a pile of clay shards, potting soil, and flowers.  
  
"Oops."  
  
Ken arched an eyebrow, clearly not about to believe anything Yohji had to say at the moment with that look on his face and that tone in his voice.  
  
"Ken, I need you to show me where you put the broom."  
  
Ken's eyes narrowed as Yohji's voice remained flat and emotionless, not even the barest of hints as to what was going on in his head. The ever-present sunglasses shielded his eyes from view, leaving Ken to speculate on Yohji's state of mind.  
  
He was betting on pissy and unreasonable.   
  
"The broom's - "  
  
"I need to talk to Ken." Yohji said coldly, not bothering to hide his dislike of the dark haired young man.  
  
Snapping his mouth shut with an audible click, Saburo muttered an apology, though whether it was meant for Yohji's ears or his own, even he wasn't sure.   
  
"Fine. Saburo, could you watch the shop for a little bit? I think it's past time Yohji and I had a talk."  
  
Although he didn't quite catch all of the subtext in Ken and Yohji's words, Saburo obviously knew something more was going on between the two. And the cold look Ken was giving Yohji told him that it was more than likely that _he_ was the cause of their dispute.  
  
"Um...sure."  
  
Nodding his thanks, Ken jerked his head in the general direction of the greenhouse, his eyes never leaving Yohji's.   
  
"Come on, Kudou. The broom's in there."  
  
Giving Ken a nasty little smirk, Yohji inclined his head slightly, crossing the space separating them with his usual long, graceful stride. Only the stiffness of his back and hard set to his eyes betrayed what he might have been feeling. Brushing past Ken without a second glance, Yohji hesitated slightly as he moved past Saburo, his mouth settling into a thin line as he met the younger man's eyes for a brief moment.  
  
Catching it, Ken put out a hand and shoved Yohji roughly in the middle of his back, earning a dark scowl for his efforts.  
  
"Move it, Kudou. I don't have all day."  
  
Baring his teeth at Ken in a parody of a smile, Yohji obliged him by moving off towards the greenhouse. Swearing direly under his breath, Ken followed him, unaware of the thoughtful look that had settled over Saburo's face. 

*********

Stalking into the greenhouse, Ken made doubly sure that the door was shut after them and that they were hidden from Saburo's view by the greenery cluttering the small space. Once that was done, he whirled on Yohji, dark eyes blazing with anger.  
  
"What the hell was that all about, Kudou?"   
  
Yohji's eyes widened in surprise, his nostrils flaring slightly as he leaned forward to put his faces inches away from Ken's.  
  
"What do you mean 'what the hell was that all about', Ken? What the hell are _you_ doing? That kid - "  
  
"Saburo's not a kid, Yohji." Ken said slowly and clearly, fighting to keep control of his temper.  
  
"Well he sure as hell isn't one of us, Ken! Why the hell are you treating him like your long lost brother? We don't know anything about him!"  
  
Stunned by the raw fury in Yohji's voice, Ken tipped his head to the side, regarding the older man through narrowed eyes.  
  
"That's not true, Yohji. We know he's had it as bad as the rest of us. He deserves a chance, Yohji. At the very least. We can't just decide we don't like him because he's replacing - "  
  
"Don't say it, Ken. Just don't say it."  
  
Ken sighed as Yohji's voice dropped to a deadly whisper, green eyes hard and cold. He hated it when Yohji got that way, it reminded him unpleasantly of Aya in his darker moments. And while he knew that Aya could be reached, he was not so sure that Yohji could, when he was like that. And if he could, there was only one person who would have been capable of it.   
  
"Yohji...why can't you just face facts? He's gone. He's not going to come back, no matter how much we want him to. Things...things just don't work that way. _Life_ doesn't work that way. It's a bitch and unfair as hell, but that's just the way things are."  
  
Wincing, Yohji pulled back, eyes darting away from Ken's.  
  
"I know that. Don't you think I know that? But...I can't keep from hoping that maybe somehow...maybe..." Yohji trailed off, his voice a dying whisper in his throat.  
  
Feeling the familiar ache in his chest, Ken wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Yohji and offer what comfort he could, but knew the gesture would be refused.  
  
"That maybe he's still alive? Yohji, I wish he were too, but no one could have survived that...not even him. We just have to accept that he's dead, Yohji. And nothing we can do is going to change that."  
  
Some part of Yohji realized the bitter truth to Ken's words. Some part of him heard the raw pain and sorrow in his friend's voice. But a larger part of him refused to accept the death of a person who had been more brother than friend.  
  
"So that's it? Just forget about him? Forget that he ever existed, because we have a brand new replacement for him? I thought you were better that that, Ken. I thought he meant more to you than to be swept under the rug like a dirty little secret."  
  
Had he been thinking clearly, Yohji would have known better than to say something like that within Ken's hearing, let alone to his face. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have recognized how deeply his words had cut his friend. Had he been thinking clearly, Yohji would have seen Ken's fist coming. Quite possibly, he might even have been able to avoid it.  
  
As it was, he suddenly found himself flat out on his back blinking up at Ken, whose face was twisted into a furious glare, eyes narrowed to mere slits. His voice, when he spoke, was glacial.   
  
"You _bastard_. You're lucky I value you too much as a friend to kill you. Though why I do escapes me at the moment."   
  
Yohji raised a hand to his face, gently probing at his jaw. He tasted blood, and realized with a start that his bottom lip was bleeding profusely. Hissing as even the slightest touch caused white sparks to erupt behind his eyelids, he let his hand fall back to his side. He saw Ken flinch at the motion, though the brunette made no move to apologize for his actions.  
  
"You know he was like a brother to me, Yohji. He was like a brother to all of us. And he deserves more than I could ever give him, but he's dead, Yohji. We can't do anything about that. And he wouldn't want us to give up living for his sake. He'd want us to pick up our lives and keep on going. And that's what I'm trying to do. You could too, if you just tried."  
  
"So you're going to make buddy, buddy with that new kid just like that? Forget about him and everything he ever did for us? Everything he ever meant to us?"  
  
"No. No I'm not. And do you know why, Yohji?"  
  
Green eyes narrowed at Ken's tone of voice.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because Saburo deserves as much a chance to prove himself that _he_ ever gave us. Because Saburo isn't just a 'kid', and because he's got every right to be here as we do. And because it's what he would want us to do." Ken said, staring Yohji down, and feeling a small sense of satisfaction as the blonde looked away.   
  
Sighing, Ken slowly unclenched his fists, flexing his hands in time to the rapid beat of his pulse. Seeing that he was making some headway with the older man, Ken smiled grimly to himself. It was something, at least.  
  
"Yohji, we can't just shut Saburo out because he's not...because he's someone else." Ken finished, finding it hard to say his friend's name aloud. "He's trying, Yohji. He's trying to fit in with all of us, and you of all people should know how damned difficult it can be."  
  
Yohji snorted at that comment, part of him reluctantly agreeing that Ken actually had something of a point in that regard. The four of them were a mismatched set of complexes, quirks, and insecurities that somehow managed to form a greater whole that functioned as one entity, for lack of a better word. And it was due to a certain young blonde that they had been able to do that at all.   
  
Omi had been the one to bind the four of them together. He'd recognized both their strengths and weaknesses, and utilized them to their full advantage. He'd taken each of them, as they joined Weiß, and bound them by ties of friendship and family...and love.  
  
Only now that whole that they had been a part of was broken into pieces so sharp and jagged that Yohji doubted anyone would be able to put it back together again.   
  
"Saburo's a decent person, Yohji. And he sure as hell doesn't deserve the cold shoulder you've been giving him. And he doesn't deserve you trying to pick a fight with him either. You've been acting like a schoolyard bully ever since he came here, and I for one have had enough of it. I'm not asking for you to make him your new best friend. Hell, I'm not even asking for you to make him a friend at all. Just give him a chance, Yohji. He more than deserves that much."  
  
"But - "  
  
"But what, Yohji?"  
  
"They never found his body." Yohji said quietly, turning his head to stare at he ground, blood dripping form his split lip. "How do we know he's really dead?"  
  
Sighing, Ken hugged his arms to himself, squeezing his eyes shut to fight the threat of tears.   
  
There it was.  
  
Yohji's last trump card. His one last desperate hope that somehow, someway, Omi might still be alive. It made a certain kind of sense, but Ken was unwilling to put faith in so slim a chance. Life had never been that kind to him.  
  
"Yohji...did you ever think that maybe the reason they never found the body was because of the explosion? Maybe..." Ken swallowed back bile as his mind provided grisly images of its own free will. "...Maybe there was no body to recover?"  
  
Yohji made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and Ken felt the last of his strength leave him. Sinking to his knees next to the blonde, he blindly reached out until he was gripping one of Yohji's hands in his own.   
  
"No."  
  
"Yohji."  
  
"No."  
  
"Please, Yohji..."  
  
"NO!" Yohji cried, pulling his hand out of Ken's hold and turning on his side, facing away from Ken. "He can't be dead, Ken. He can't be. I promised him I'd be there for his graduation. I promised him I'd take him out clubbing when he was old enough. I promised him I'd be there for his wedding, whenever he found the right girl. I promised him, Ken. I _promised_!"  
  
It was funny, Ken thought, that he'd never really known what a broken heart felt like. He'd assumed he'd experienced it many times before in his life. Once with Kase. Again with Yuriko, and a third time with Omi's death. Now though, sitting next to Yohji and _feeling_ the soul-deep pain in his friend, he truly realized what a broken heart was.   
  
And there was nothing he could do, other than sit there with Yohji and simply be there for him. There wasn't much else he could do, but he could damn well do that much for him. 

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TBC...

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	4. Interlude - 1

Here's part four of "Do What You Have to Do", in which a bit more of the plot is revealed (because yes, there is one in here somewhere). The two 'mysterious figures' in this part are either going to be blindingly obvious to you readers, or 'who the heck are they?'. In any case, I'd appreciate it that if you do leave a review, could you please *not* say who you think they are in the review. That way people who read the reviews first can come up with their own speculations and won't have anything ruined for them. Feel free to email me privately if you'd like, about who you think these people are. I love hearing from people who read my fics.

~silvershadeus~

Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz or the song I 'acquired' the title of this fic from, I'm just borrowing them for a little bit.  


feedback, onegai! ^_^

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**Do What You Have to Do - Part 4 - Interlude 1**

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It was dark out when they met, it always was. He stood cloaked in shadows, as though some part of him sought the darkness within. Clouds filled the sky, obscuring the moon form view, leaving on the faint flickering of the streetlights for illumination.  
  
Looking up as he heard the steady staccato rhythm of approaching footsteps, he felt the barest of smiles cross his lips. Turning, he caught a glimpse of red from the corner of his eye.  
  
"You're early."   
  
His smile widened at the brusque, business tone in her voice. The way she clipped off her words so neatly. As though any inefficiency was inexcusable.  
  
Taking a drag off of the cigarette he held, he tipped his head to the side, glass green eyes narrowed thoughtfully.  
  
"You sounded worried earlier."  
  
Shifting a little to get a better look at her face, he felt a knot of dread form in his stomach. The skin around her eyes tightened at his words, her mouth a thin line.   
  
"That's none of - " She began, only to be interrupted as he slid a step closer, his eyes boring into hers.  
  
"I dislike this mission you've saddled me with, but I dislike people who lie to my face even more." He bit out, green eyes narrowed.  
  
Silence followed his words as she stared back, caught by his eyes.  
  
"He's been taken." She said, defeat marking her every line as her shoulders slumped, something dark moving through her eyes. "We don't know how they found him."  
  
Looking away, he hid his unease by taking another drag off the cigarette.   
  
"What happened?"  
  
He saw the surprise in her eyes, quickly hidden behind the seemingly uncaring mask that she thought carried no flaws. No imperfections. No tiny cracks through which her feelings could seep through to the surface. He might correct her one day, tell her how ineffective it was, but that would have to wait for some later date when things didn't hinge on his being able to read through her mask.  
  
"Last night. The facility where he was being kept was infiltrated by an unknown number of trained individuals. The guards and medical staff were found dead; either with their throats slit or by poison. The subcutaneous tracker was found in his bed, next to a pair of throwing knives. Covered with his blood."  
  
Lifting an eyebrow at that last, he marveled that she had managed to keep her customary cool as she related the details to him. He wasn't so sure that he would have been able to, were he in her shoes.  
  
"What does this mean for the mission?"  
  
It was cruel of him to ask her such a thing at a moment like that, but it needed to be done. He needed her thinking rationally again, and not acting on raw emotion. People died when they did, and he had no desire to witness her death.  
  
"The mission goes as planned, of course." She replied icily, as though offended by his question.  
  
Smiling thinly, he flicked ash from the end of his cigarette, eyes locked with hers.  
  
"And what about him?"  
  
"We have people working on it this very minute. As soon as we know anything we'll have our best team working on retrieving him."  
  
There was something in her voice, in here eyes as she spoke those last words. Something that made his uneasy. Something that he knew didn't bode well.  
  
"You aren't planning on using them, are you? The mission would be - "  
  
"That's not your concern. This is my call, and they are the only ones who would be capable of retrieving him."  
  
Hands clenching into fists at his side, the cigarette was forgotten.  
  
"They aren't trained for that sort of thing! You'd be consigning them to their deaths as well. You do realize that, don't you?"   
  
She backed up a step, the fire in her eyes flickering with uncertainty.  
  
"We don't have a choice! They are the only ones that I trust to get him back. The only ones who would want to..."  
  
He felt a stab of pity for her. She knew, all the too well, the risks involved, and she was still willing to accept them. Still willing to put lives on the line - hers included. He would have gladly joined her, had he not known the consequences if they failed.  
  
"Would you tell them why? Would you look each one of them in the eye and tell them that they'd suffered all this time for nothing? Would you tell them that you've been lying to them, and then expect them to trust in you?"  
  
"They don't have a choice..."  
  
He snorted, raking a hand through his hair. Slanting a look at her, he found that she couldn't meet his eyes.  
  
"Is that how you've been able to control them all this time? Telling them that they had no choice? It's a miracle they're still so loyal to you. I would have thought that they would have tried to break away before now."  
  
"They've tried."  
  
It was a whisper, barely audible, but somehow he heard.  
  
"But they always came back in the end, didn't they."  
  
He didn't make it a question.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And still they trust you. They come to you, because they think they can trust you."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You should rethink your plans, because one day you'll learn that even trust like theirs can be pushed too far. Everyone has their limits, and they've been pushed beyond theirs too many times. I doubt they'd be willing to forgive even this very easily."  
  
When it didn't look as though his words had registered, he leaned forward, forcing her to make eye contact.  
  
"Ask yourself this: How many lives are you willing to risk to get him back? How many people are you willing to sacrifice, for one person?"  
  
Turning to go, he was brought up short by her voice. Glancing over his shoulder, he waited expectantly.  
  
"You - "  
  
He cut her off with a negligent wave of his hand as he continued on his way, his words drifting back to her.  
  
"I know how to do my job. Make sure you do yours."   
  
And with that, she was left alone with only her thoughts for company.

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**TBC...**

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	5. Letting go

Part five of "Do What You Have to Do", and the final part of this fic. Read the author's notes at the end of this part for an explanation, or email me if you'd like. 

~silvershadeus~

Disclaimer: I do not own _Weiß Kreuz_ or the song I 'acquired' the title of this fic from, I'm just borrowing them for a little bit.  


feedback, onegai! ^_^

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**Do What You Have to Do - Part 5**

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Watching the rain patter harmlessly against the windows of the shop, Yohji heartily wished for a cigarette. Ken was gone again, off with Aya on one of a hundred little errands that still needed to be taken care of. As he had learned the hard way, the world didn't stop because your part of it fell to pieces. Sighing, he spared a glance for the dark-haired figure seated in a chair beside the table, something silver flashing over his knuckles.   
  
It had been several days since his breakdown in the greenhouse, and he found that the ache in his chest had lessened, and so had his vehement dislike of the young man sharing the afternoon shift with him. Saburo wasn't such a bad guy, as Ken had pointed out, it was just his bad luck to be brought in so soon after the loss of one of their own.   
  
And he did try; doing everything he could to be helpful while not getting underfoot. And he had an uncanny habit of knowing when his presence was an unwelcome one. He reminded Yohji far too much of Omi in some ways, but in others he was no match for the younger blonde. Or would have been no match...  
  
Raking a hand through his hair, Yohji decided to act his age for once and do the mature thing. One of them had to, and Saburo was too good at reading the emotional currents in a room to be the first to bend. He knew Yohji needed to be the one to make the first gesture, because it was his right.   
  
"You keep playing with that thing, are you a magician or something?"  
  
Startled, Saburo blinked, pale eyes coming back into focus as he turned to face Yohji, a small smile playing on his lips at the question.  
  
"Or something," He agreed, continuing to roll the silver coin across his fingers, over and under, around and down in an almost hypnotic pattern. "It's a training exercise, keeps my fingers flexible."  
  
Yohji nodded, green eyes thoughtful. He knew Ken would have been pleased that he was actually having somewhat of a civil conversation with the younger man. Certainly he wouldn't have expected anything like it so soon.  
  
"How old are you?" He asked suddenly, finding that he truly was curious.  
  
Saburo appeared to be no older than seventeen, but then Omi had looked fourteen, when in fact he had been a few months shy of eighteen. And it was a way to break the tension that lay between them, courtesy of his inability to move past the heartache Omi's death had caused.  
  
The silver coin didn't so much as falter as Saburo gave Yohji a wry smile.  
  
"Would you like to cut me open and count the rings?"  
  
Yohji blinked, unsure of how he should take Saburo's reply. There had been no hostility in his tone of voice, but Yohji hadn't missed the flash of hurt in those ice-green eyes. The younger man watched him silently, waiting for Yohji's response. Waiting to see which direction Yohji would take this time.   
  
"I..." Yohji began, clearly at a loss for what to do or say to make up for his earlier behavior.   
  
Seeing the conflict in Yohji's eyes, Saburo decided to take pity on the older man. If He was willing to start over again, then it was the least he could do.  
  
"I was kidding, Yohji. Kidding. I'm eighteen...or was it nineteen? I forget." Saburo said, frowning slightly.  
  
"You forget?"   
  
Looking up at the incredulous tone in Yohji's voice, Saburo smiled humorlessly.   
  
"I guess you wouldn't know, would you." He murmured, eyes sliding to meet Yohji's. "I was a street rat, Yohji. Out there, you're usually too busy trying to survive to bother with something like how old you are. You're just glad you're alive, everything else is just sort of background noise. Easy to ignore." He added, gesturing with his free hand at the world outside the windows of the shop.  
  
Yohji started at him as though he was seeing him for the first time. Saburo was small for his age and thin, almost wiry. He moved with an easy grace all his own, and he had a way of looking at you that made you feel like he was picking you apart from the outside in to see what made you tick. To see if you were someone he would have to be wary of or not.   
  
It was rare when that part of him showed, as Saburo was careful to keep it hidden behind his amiable grin and friendly manner. But Yohji knew there was a killer behind that smile, as there had been one behind Omi's.   
  
"You don't look - "  
  
Sighing, Saburo looked away, still rolling the damned coin across his knuckles.  
  
"I know I don't look however old I'm supposed to look, Yohji. Like I said, I was a street rat. Eating garbage doesn't exactly do wonders for a growing body, you know. And I was always the runt of the litter, so to speak. I lived too long on too little to make up for it now. But it's a tradeoff I'm more than willing to accept."  
  
Yohji was getting the feeling that he'd somehow gotten himself in way over his head, the way Saburo was looking at him. As though he could see right through him and read all of the secrets Yohji kept under lock and key in his mind.  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
Shrugging, Saburo leaned back in his chair, crossing an ankle over his knee.  
  
"It means that I'm willing to stay a runt if it means that I don't have to go back to scrounging for a mouthful of food at a time, that's what it means."  
  
Yohji blinked, realizing that Ken had had a point, when he'd said Saburo had hard a time of it. It was amazing really, just what you refused to see when you were wrapped up in your own grief. Amazing what you chose not to see.  
  
"Why the sudden interest?"   
  
Looking over at Saburo, Yohji felt his lips twist into a wry smile.  
  
"Someone told me a long time ago that it's hard to hate someone when you get to know them. I guess I was just trying to see if he was right about that."  
  
Saburo grinned, trapping the coin between his index finger and thumb.   
  
"Was he?"  
  
Picking up the watering can on the counter next to him, Yohji retuned the smile hesitantly.   
  
"So far."  
  
Saburo smiled again, flipping the coin in the air, light flashing off its sides to reflect against the wall.  
  
"Sounds like he's quite a guy. You're lucky to have someone like that for a friend."  
  
Yohji's smile wavered, something flitting through his eyes so fast Saburo couldn't be sure he'd seen it.  
  
"Yeah. I guess I was."  
  
Unbidden, flashes of memory surfaced in his mind. A pair of unbelievably blue eyes, laughing at him. Omi's mouth curved upwards into that impish little grin that he got whenever he teased his teammates. Omi offering him a hand up when he fell, real warmth and affection in his eyes. Omi bringing him medicine when he was sick, even though he'd had to trek through a rainstorm to get it. Omi patching him up after missions...  
  
It was frightening, really, how much of that he'd taken for granted. How he'd always just assumed that of all of them, Omi would be the one to survive the lives they led. How he'd never thought that he would be the one to outlive him. He knew a little now, the horror of a parent that outlived their child. He understood the pain that came with that knowledge.   
  
Eyes widening as he caught the past tense in Yohji's words, Saburo snagged his coin as it began its downward arc, gripping it tightly in his hand. There was no missing the way Yohji's face had closed off, looking more like Aya than himself at the moment.  
  
"Yohji?"  
  
Shaking his head, the older man tugged at his apron, swearing under his breath as the ties refused to come undone.  
  
"Yohji?"  
  
Finally jerking the damned apron off, Yohji turned to find himself looking down into Saburo's eyes, which were full of concern.   
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
Yohji had to clench his teeth to keep from snapping at Saburo. He had to bite back the urge to scream as he felt his anger and grief boiling up within him. He might have begun to accept Omi's death, but that didn't make the pain and loss any less real. It didn't make the helpless frustration he felt easier to bear.  
  
"I...Can you handle the shop alone? I need to get out of here."  
  
Saburo cocked his head to the side, green eyes narrowed in a way that made something in Yohji's chest clench painfully. Omi had used to look at him like that, trying to see if Yohji would be fine on his own, or if he needed a shoulder to lean on. And it hurt to see that look on Saburo's face, because it drove home the fact that he'd never see Omi looking at him like that again.  
  
"Sure. Just...be careful, all right? Don't do anything stupid."  
  
Yohji laughed weakly, feeling a scream clawing its way up his throat. He needed to get out of the shop. Needed to get away from Saburo, who had the bad luck to remind Yohji so strongly of Omi. Saburo who hadn't done anything to deserve Yohji's irrational dislike other than existing. Most of all, Yohji needed to get away from the place where he could so plainly feel Omi's presence.  
  
"I won't. It's not like there's anything I could do that would be any worse than the things I've already been doing."  
  
Saburo stared at him, green eyes unreadable.   
  
"There is, Yohji. Trust me, there is. Don't forget that you're not the only one suffering, Yohji. You're not the only one affected by his death."  
  
Gritting his teeth, Yohji took a step forward, hands clenched into fists, and stopped when Saburo didn't so much as bat an eye, waiting for a blow to land.  
  
"Eventually you have to go on with your life, Yohji. Wouldn't you rather do that knowing that you haven't lost everything? Because you will, if you continue like you have been. Grief and loss will only take you so far, and they've been suffering every bit as much as you have. Either take that step forward now and choose to go on with your life, or you really will lose everything."  
  
There was something in Saburo's voice, in his eyes that struck Yohji to his core. Something that made it easier to think, to feel. Something that broke through that never ending cycle of grief and blame he'd been living in for so long now.  
  
Unable to face the younger man's unwavering gaze any longer, Yohji turned and left, feeling the weight of those ice-green eyes on his back as he walked away.

*********

The path he walked was a familiar one. Aged cobblestone that cut a path through a forest of stone, monuments to grief and loss.   
  
The rain continued to fall, plastering his hair to his skull, drenching him, and he didn't care. It was a form of penance, for having failed to notice before. For having to have taken things for granted that he shouldn't have. For not being there when he should have been.  
  
He'd taken to coming here when he could, whether to mourn or blame himself for something that hadn't been his fault, even he wasn't sure. What he did know that that he found a measure of peace there, something that he was only just beginning to appreciate.   
  
It was a change from trying to drown out his pain and sorrow with alcohol and sex, and for some reason that thought made Yohji feel better. He could almost hear Omi congratulating him on figuring it out on his own that killing himself slowly wasn't going to make his grief magically go away. If anything, it added to the grief of his friends that were forced to stand by and watch him deteriorate, unable to get through to him.   
  
Sighing, Yohji reached up to wipe water from his eyes, and stopped as he saw the backs of two familiar figures before him. They stood a little off the path beside a simple headstone that marked the grave of someone who had been closer than a brother to all of them.  
  
It was painfully inadequate as a means to honor the death of someone who had been everything to them that they lacked. Anything else would have been an insult to his memory, someone who had never liked to draw attention to himself. Someone who preferred their company to the droves of his peers that simply wanted to be in the same room as him.   
  
So they'd respected his wishes in that way, although they knew he deserved better than anything they could have provided him with.  
  
Ken and Aya stood side-by-side, so close that their shoulders were touching, offering each other silent support and understanding. There was something in the way they stood that made Yohji keep his silence, something that spoke of their need to be alone.   
  
Stepping off the path, he made his way to a stand of trees, watching his teammates as they grieved. A sad little smile made its way to his face as he noticed the way they seemed to gravitate towards each other. There was something between them that Yohji couldn't help but notice, and envy.  
  
Perhaps something good had come out of Omi's death, if had drawn Ken and Aya together. They deserved what happiness they could get, and Yohji knew that Omi would have been pleased that they had finally stopped dancing around each other like the idiots they were.   
  
Smiling, he turned to go, leaving them to their grief, and each other. He'd mourned more than his share, now it was his turn to go on living. He owed that much to Omi's memory.  
  
And life did go on, even if you left part of yourself behind in the process.

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A/N: Hee...just a little explanation. I mentioned in the first part of this fic that this was a part of a larger story arc. And yes, I know things have been left unresolved which shouldn't have been. (Such as what exactly happened on *that* mission, why did Aya *not* have speaking part in this fic, and where oh where is sweet little Omi...blah,blah,blah...) Rest assured, all of those little dangling plot points will be addressed in later fics in this story arc. So stay tuned, more angst and other yummies to come in the future!

_


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